Motel 6
by ClosetSkeleton
Summary: AU Alfred F Jones dies in an unsavory manner, only thing is he doesn't pass over to the Other Side. ROMERICA
1. A Life Worth 20 Bucks

There is no rock bottom, Alfred Jones could tell you that. It's a myth, an urban legend if you will. No, you just keep tumbling down and that moment when you say "I can only go up from here," will suck you even farther down the pit. One moment you're on the bed of a sallow motel, selling your body for drug money, thinking 'This is it, I've hit rock bottom,' the next you're dead.

That's right, turns out that erotic asphyxiation can be quite dangerous. Remember that if a guy ever gives you 20 bucks to let him choke you while he jerks off.

When death did come Alfred did not see his life flash before his eyes and there was no clean light to walk into. He was met with blackness and cold and in those brief moments he was reminded how utterly alone he was. Figuratively, of course, that guy didn't seem to mind that Alfred had stopped clawing at his fat, swollen hand. He wondered if anyone would go to his funeral, or if anybody would even claim his body. What happens when nobody claims a body? He'd have to remember to Google that in hell.

However, Alfred didn't have to wait long to find out he wasn't going to Hell, but he wasn't in Heaven either. When the fog of death rinsed away and his vision was restored he was still in that rancid motel room with the stained, flat carpet and grimy, thin windows, but he was most definitely dead. He could tell because he didn't hurt anymore, in fact he felt nothing, not to mention he was looking right at his own corpse.

He could see himself lying on the bed, the man had finished and a soft 20 was resting on his face and semen coated his brown shirt. He didn't look so good, hair askew, glasses bent, skin filthy and littered with sour pink needle pricks. Where were the rose-colored glasses when he needed them?

He stayed there for a long while, quite literally ghosting over himself and stalking the room. His body had turned a sickly ivory, his eyes had lost their gleam and the flies took a liking to his skin. At first it had seemed like a dream, that perhaps he would wake up in his apartment or perhaps in an alleyway, but he quickly decided that couldn't be right because he hadn't had a dream in years.

When he finally did leave it was not the way he was expecting. Mirroring all the Hollywood movies of his youth, Alfred tried to just sink through the skinny walls; however his face was quickly met by the crispy wallpaper and his teeth became acquainted with the material called sheetrock. Feeling dazed and just a slight bit silly, he reached an opaque hand toward the doorknob and opened the door.

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a/n: This was just sitting around on my computer, so I decided to post it. It really has no meaning and to be honest it has no direction. Probably will not be updated.


	2. How Do You Do?

On the outside of the room the sun seemed an infinite times stronger than Alfred previously remembered and it burned his vision with a spotty white veil. He put his arms out, trying to find some sort of grip on the environment and gripped something that felt like rough fabric.

When Alfred did regain his sense of vision, and have no doubt it took a couple minutes, he found himself being berated by a foul-mouthed, searing-eyed man whose entire being somehow seemed strangely disconnected to the world around him.

"The fuck are you looking at, asswipe?" The man snarled, olive hands batting the at Alfred's hands that clutched at the fabric of his shoulder.

At first Alfred was astonished. Somebody could see him! Perhaps he was not really dead! But the surprise quickly transformed to horror when he finally comprehended the gapping wounds that littered the man's chest.

"Hello? Anyone there, bastard?"

Startled of his mindless stare, Alfred let go of his grip on the other man and looked up to meet those bee-stung eyes, "Um-how-I mean-are you okay?"

"What?" The man said but a nippy smirk soon shaped on his mouth, "Oh yeah, you're new, huh? I saw you the other night with that fatass. I could have told that was a bad fucking idea!"

"You saw me?" Alfred said and if he hadn't been dead he would have been as red as the festering lacerations adorning the man's torso, "But wait, I don't remember seeing you…"

"That's because I'm dead, jackass," He huffed and rolled his eyes, "You can only see me now because you fucking hit the bucket too."

Alfred nodded slowly in understanding but quickly quirked an eyebrow, "But if you're dead than how are you all cut up like that?" He gestured to the puss oozing wounds.

Almost self-consciously the man's hands went to pull at his bloodied shirt, "For the same reason you've got those pretty red bands around your neck."

"Huh?" Alfred's fingers instinctively gathered at his throat. He winced, finding the skin beneath to be extremely tender and soar to the touch, "What on Earth?"

The man laughed, forgetting his stab wounds and leaned against the side of the building as he rummaged through his pockets, "Dumbass, that's your Mark."

"My Mark?" He parroted.

"Yes, dumbass, your Mark," He said, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, much to the amazement of Alfred, "That's how you died, isn't it? He strangled you to death."

"Yeah, I guess," Alfred murmured. He could still feel the fingers around his throat. He shivered, "But how come none of my…my other marks are here?" He asked, ghosting a hand over the sleeve of his arm.

"Because being a junkie's not what finally did you in, it was that asshole who did," The man said simply.

"Oh."

Alfred joined the man, leaning onto the weather-worn bricks. They stayed like that for some time, watching the prostitutes and johns scurry in and out of room after room. They didn't say much but besides a few snide comments about one woman's snaggletooth and how one man looked like he had eaten three others and an old janitor who liked to watch the criminal couples through the cracked-glass windows. For a while this suited both of them, however Alfred could not help but stare at the man curiously. He was well-dressed, well minus the blood and tears to the front of his dress shirt, and his hair was a soft shade of brown that seemed to fall atop his head in the most sophisticated way, for a dead guy that is and if Alfred looked past the rotten stab wounds he would say the man was rather handsome. But there was just something off about him, something that Alfred had not managed to gather yet. It wasn't the fact that he was a ghost, Alfred had come to accept his own death and decidedly the fact that there must be other dead people roaming the world.

It wasn't until the sun was setting, when the sky turned an off-putting yellow, that Alfred found the courage to ask the man, "How- how was it that you died?"

With a bitter frown the man whipped his head around to glare at Alfred. He threw his wilting cigarette to the street (his fourth since Alfred had arrived), "Now why the fuck would I tell you? Hmm? I don't even fucking know your name."

"It's Alfred," He filled in quickly.

"Yeah, so what? I barely fucking met you. What makes you think I'd tell you something like that?"

"Well I just thought since, ya know, you already know how I died you'd tell me how you did…" Alfred muttered.

"That's true, I suppose," The yellow-eyed man sighed. He thought it over for a while, gazing at the teen, and then in a virulent tone said, "My brother stabbed me in the back."

"Your brother?" Alfred said, eyes wide.

"You fucking heard me, don't make me say it again, dumbass," The man continued, "It was four fucking years ago, right there," The man lashed a finger around to point at a room labeled 278, although he refused to look over at it himself, "He had his fucking lackeys follow me here and before I knew it they jumped me and I was dead. Goddamn pansy couldn't even do it himself."

"Why would he do that to you?" Alfred asked, he could never imagine his own brother doing anything nearly as heinous. Of course, he hadn't seen his brother since what seemed forever, but Alfred doubted he would

The man spat bitterly, "He wanted all the fucking inheritance for himself and that stupid fucking kraut and he could only have it all if I was dead."

"That's rough, man," Alfred said, not knowing if there was anything_ else_ to say. The man scoffed, pulling out another cigarette from his pocket.

Another awkward silence fell upon them. Alfred didn't know what to think at that point, never in all of his years of living on the streets had so much happen to him in just a few days. The mix of emotions that were twisting his heart, were also twisting his hands as he nervously wrung them.

"By the way," Alfred said after hesitating, "What's your name?"

With a look that could kill a statue, the man glanced at Alfred, "Lovino."

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A/N: Just kidding I'm continuing this, though I must say it now has a pairing: Romerica

Sorry if you don't like the pairing but hey, it's my fic.


	3. Good Boy

A/N: Although this story doesn't have a ton of views or reviews, I'd just like to thank everyone who's followed/faved/reviewed/read this. Your support is really appreciated. Unfortunately, this chapter has no romerica in it, but it is vital to the plot. I hope you still enjoy it.

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Matthew Williams was a good boy. Anybody who had even glanced at him knew that, with his honey-coated hair and thistle eyes. He made straight A's, was captain of his high school hockey team and always was sure to smile at someone if they looked particularly down in the dumps.

Matthew Williams was a good boy, that's why he offered to take Lars's shift that night at the gas station that night, all the while smiling on the inside, happy to help a friend out.

The night was mostly uneventful, not many people came in and when they did it was usually to buy a beer or a bag of potato chips. Like a good boy, Matthew found entertainment by sweeping the floor and wiping down the counters in between customers.

But bad things happen to good people.

When the man walked in, Matthew hadn't thought much of it, even with his greasy, slicked back hair and particularly unkempt clothes. Most people who came in this late at night held a similar appearance and Matthew tried to not judge their appearance, but the longer the man spent in the store the more on edge Matthew began to feel.

The man took his time in the little store, strolling around the isles of snack foods and cases of beer. Matthew tried not to let the stares the man was giving him get under his skin, and he tried to ignore the way the man seemed to follow him as he went about his duties, it made his skin tingle with adrenaline and his fingers shake with anticipation. Just the way the man moved about like a snake ready to strike was making his heart race.

In the end, Matthew was relieved when the man left, having bought a pack of cigars and a 6-pack.

The rest of his shift ended uneventfully and by the time it was time to lock up he had completely forgotten about the man. He did a final sweep of the store, closed up the register, turned out the light and went to lock the doors.

Matthew didn't see it when it happened, but he most certainly felt the heavy hand clamp onto his mouth and pull him backwards into a broad chest and he dropped the keys to the store.

"Don't struggle," A voice whispered and suddenly the reality of the situation materialized itself.

Panic surged through the teen, his heart fluttering so fast and his body twisted and writhed like a crocodile's in a death roll, only he was the one in mortal danger. The man grunted, his free hand trying to get a grip on the boy as he thrashed in his grasp.

"Le'go," Matthew managed through thick fingers, his own fingers catching the skin of his assailant.

The man only held him tighter as bruises made their home on Matthew's ribs, "I said don't struggle, it'll just hurt more if you do."

Slowly Matthew went limp in the man's hold, a parody of a child who didn't want to be dragged to the dentist. His captor seemed pleased, almost rewardingly patting his side which he so fiercely held. The man hauled him off further into the darkness and to an old, cherry rusted car which the man threw Matthew in once he had coaxed the keys out of his pocket.

In what seemed a matter of seconds Matthew's entire world had shrunk down to the inside of a dusty Ford. His arms were numb with fear and his face felt like it was going to melt with how bad his skin was burning. Unable to control his body, Matthew lay limp against the fabric of the seats, limbs trembling with fear.

He was going to die.

The man took his time sliding into the front seat and gently closing the front door. He did not speed off into the night as Matthew thought he would. Instead, the man fiddled with the knobs of the radio flipping from static to station to more static as if there was not a teenage boy held captive in the back. When he finally settled on a station, Matthew could hear the dull drone of a man's voice though the words became fuzzy when they entered his ears, the car began to move.

Matthew sniffled as he watched his assailant like a hawk. Matthew became hyperaware of his every movement, every jerk and gesture of his body. The man lit up a cigar, probably a cigar he had just purchased from Matthew, and the sickly sweet stench filled the interior of the car.

They drove for what seemed hours, but his captor still said nothing neither of which were comforting to Matthew.

"Please don't kill me," Matthew finally fared; still tears pricked at his eyes, "Please, please, please. I'll do anything."

The man chuckled, though the sound was not pleasing to the ear, "Anything?"

Matthew sobbed, tears hurdling over the brim of his eyes, "A-anything. P-please just don't kill me. Anything."

The car came to a lurching stop at the side of the road. From Matthew's position he could only see the pitch black sky, though he craned his neck to get a better view. The man came around the back of the car and opened the door nearest to Matthew's resting head. He dragged the boy out by the collar and pulled him into a ditch. Much to Matthew's horror he realized they were in the middle of nowhere and not even a single car could be seen for miles.

His abductor pulled him up to his knees and gripped his jaw to bring Matthew's gaze to his own, "You don't want to die?"

"N-no," Matthew moaned pitifully.

"And you'll do anything I ask, like a good boy?"

"Anything. Please!"

The man smirked, and pushed Matthew to the ground. He walked to the back of the car, saying, "Try to run and I'll kill you. You won't get very far anyway."

But he didn't have to say that because Matthew knew it was utterly hopeless. There was nobody in this deserted patch of highway to save him. This was it.

The man hummed happily as he popped the trunk. "I have peculiar tastes," He said. He reached into the trunk to grab some things, things that were obscured by the trunk from Matthew's perspective. When the man had retrieved his supplies he came back down to Matthew who had not moved a muscle since the man had left.

When the man came to the boy's feet, Matthew nearly vomited at the sight of what he was holding in his hands.

Rope.

"You're going to do exactly what I say, got it?"

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a/n: Thanks for reviewing guys. As for Feli being out of character, he hasn't even made an appearance in the story yet so try not to worry about it. Sorry about slow updating, I know if I was a reader I'd be pissed about how long it took me to write this. Ironically, it's not that I don't have time to write it's that I spend all my time voraciously reading books/fanfiction. Not to mention I have fallen into the HP fandom and am losing interest in APH.

More Lovi and Al next time, I promise.


	4. Cigarettes

Alfred hummed impatiently, staring at the grainy TV screen. Lovino and he had finally finagled their way into one of the rooms after their faces had three or four reunions with the doors. Alfred was quickly becoming restless, however, as Lovino became madly obsessed with raiding neglected trousers and rickety night stands for cigarettes. Lovino had only come across a half smoked one and was rapidly losing his patience as he discovered that even the ashtray spilled on the floor only contained the butt of one.

Alfred sighed as he watched the brunette busy himself with the pillowcases, "Come on, I'm tired of this, 'sides all this TV gets is static!"

"Shut the hell up, if you don't want to be here leave! It's not like I even asked you to come."

"Yeah, but where am I supposed to go," Alfred whined petulantly, "I'm new at this being dead thing…"

"Why the hell do you think I know anything you don't? It's not like there's some 'Being Fucking Deceased' manual that I'm hiding from you," Lovino said, tossing one of the crusted pillows at the back of Alfred's head with a frustrated sigh.

Alfred sighed too and dragged himself to the TV, ignoring having been hit on the head. He gripped the crooked bunny ears and pulled them every which way, hoping to produce some sort of image on the screen. At first only bits would appear on the TV and muffled voice could be heard through the static.

"School's-opening-…back to-weather-Dan-"

"Rain-high is-southern-remem-bring an umbrella-"

"Would you stop playing with that?" Lovino said from under the bed.

"Shuddup, I've almost got it wor-" And finally with one more tug and a slight twist of the wires the television sprung to life.

On the screen was a woman with long brown hair and a very crooked nose and to her right sat a man with orange puckered skin and brilliantly white teeth that seemed too big for his mouth. The woman was talking, head bobbing back and forth as she talked about a wildfire somewhere south of Greenville with an unnaturally happy expression as she spoke about the evacuated citizens. She passed the news over to the orange man, Ron, with owlish, green eyes never blinking.

"Thanks, Elizabeth, we all wish the best for the folks up in Greenville," The man made a jerky motion with his own head when he talked and he squinted as though he couldn't quite read the teleprompter, "In other news, a body has been found just outside Fairview near I-17. The victim was apparently working the night shift at the Corner Shop on 51st when he was abducted. A name for the victim has not been released by police but authorities have released surveillance video of the alleged assailant."

The screen cut from Ron's tight face to that of a silent, grayscale clip of a man walking into a gas station. He was thick and almost entirely covered by the oversized hoodie and ball cap. The man's face was hardly distinguishable from the grain of the image; however when the clip cut to another angle-

Alfred fell off the bed.

"Oh my god!" He shouted, as a chill rushed through his heart.

A thump resounded from beneath the bed and a stream of vulgarities followed suit.

"What?" Lovino grunted, rubbing the top of his head furiously.

"It's-Jesus-it's him!" Alfred pointed to the screen. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the screen until it reverted back to the anchorman.

"Heh, it is him," Lovino said casually, "Poor bastard must've been stupid, looks like the kid didn't even realize that guy was up to no good. Then again, neither did you."

Alfred crossed his arms, not thoroughly pleased by Lovino's lack of reaction.

"Well?" Alfred asked expectantly.

Annoyed, Lovino replied, "Well what?"

"Well what the hell are we gonna do about it? We can't just let this guy run around thinkin' he can just kill people!"

Lovino scoffed, "And what do you think we should do, hmm? Are you going to call up the police up and say 'Oh yeah I totally know that guy, he fucking killed me. Only Problem is I don't know his fucking name, glad I could be of help!' Dumbass."

"Why not call 'em? At least then they'll know he's killed before. Besides, I don't have to say I'm me, I could say I found my body or somethin'."

"What you've just said is the most idiotic thing I have ever heard," Lovino rolled his eyes, "You're dead! I was only joking about calling them, dipshit, they won't be able to hear you."

"So as a ghost you can smoke but I can't make a simple phone call? That's the most idiotic thing I'VE ever heard."

"I didn't make the fucking poltergeist rules, I'm just telling you how it works. Besides, when we hold things like cigarettes they become invisible too. It's not like fucking people see floating cigarettes every time I light up."

Alfred whined before flopping back onto the bed. He looked up at Lovino in a way that made the latter want to hit him, "Isn't there any way we contact the police?"

Lovino joined him on the bed, lighting one of his treasured cigarettes.

"You could write a letter I suppose, but who's really going to read it seriously? You don't know anything about the guy other than he's a shit stain on society."

"What do you think we should do then, huh?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Alfred screeched, "How can you say that? He's out there killing people. He KILLED people. He killed ME!"

"So? So what? Did you forget I was murdered, too? Hmm? And guess what, my brother's still out there with that stupid potatofucking bastard! You don't see me crying!"

"Maybe that's why you're such a jerk, because you can't get over it!"

"Say that again, you crack whore."

"You're just bitter." Alfred said, turning away from Lovino.

There was a moment of agonizing silence and then a sigh, "I guess we could just… go talk to Braginsky, he'd probably know what we can do."

"Baghinsky-who?" Alfred said, perking up.

"It's Braginsky, idiot! He's some dead guy who haunts the church just off Maple Street, but I've heard a bunch of people talk about him in passing. Supposedly he's been dead for 200 and something years. He'd probably be able to help."

In a matter of seconds Lovino had an armful of Alfred, "Ah thanks Lovi-I can call you that can't I? I knew you'd help me out! When can we go meet this guy?"

"Get off of me, twerp," The brunette muttered as he tried to shove Alfred off, but he clung to him like a child does his mother, "We can go as soon as you stop crushing me with you fat ass!"

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A/N: Derp, so apparently I gave off the impression that I'm doing this because I feel obligated and not because I want to, but trust me this is a labor of love. If I didn't want to write it I just wouldn't. This story is like my test tube baby, so don't worry my heart's in it, it just takes me a while to force my brain to focus on it. Thank you for the reviews, they were sweet and made me smile…


	5. Salt and Sand

Maple Street was known for everything except its Maple trees or the syrup, though if you were looking for something sticky you'd probably be able to find it in one of the alleyways. It hadn't taken long to get there, as being dead has its advantages, namely having a never ending stamina. Though, Maple Street was far from a sight for sore eyes; It was just as ugly as any other part of the city, tagged, abandoned, abused.

The church they had been looking for would have been better described as a cathedral as it had elegant spires that reached for the smog filled sky and stained glass framed in the windows. However, the once white walls of the church had been graffitied and the weeds clung to cracks in the structure and overran any real attractiveness on the old cathedral might have once held.

"I'm assuming this is the place," Alfred said, looking to Lovino for confirmation.

Lovino rolled his eyes, "Gee, how'd you know?"

Lovino pushed one of the heavy wooden doors open and they slipped inside. The Cathedral was pretty bare, save for the pews that sat in skewampus lines. Colored light streamed into the chapel, making the swirling dust that floated in the air all the more visible. Down the rows of benches was a head of platinum hair, but Alfred could tell that he was no longer amongst the living, just as he had been able to tell when he had first encountered Lovino. Elbowing his companion, Alfred jerked his thumb toward the man. Lovino nodded and they approached him carefully, unsure of what his reaction would be.

They came around the pew the man was sitting in, though their presence seemed to go unnoticed as violet eyes remained transfixed on the wall ahead of him, a bloody Bible firmly grasped in his hands. Alfred couldn't help but notice the gaping, fleshy wound carved into the man where his heart should have been, he could only assume it was his Mark. The man's clothing seemed like a time capsule from the 1800's with his tailcoat suit and cravat that wrapped his neck.

Awkwardly, Alfred coughed, "Uh, hi there, big guy. I'm Alfred and this is Lovino."

Despite his introduction, although admittedly halfhearted, he was ignored and the man's, presumably Braginsky, gaze seemed to favor the wall.

"I don't mean to interrupt or nothing but me and my buddy here were wondering if you could help us out a bit…"

Still they were met with silence, but Braginsky seemed more aware of their presence as his hands tensed and clenched even tighter around the battered scriptures he so dearly held onto.

"You see we heard you were pretty old- well, experienced- and we were hoping that you-"

"Leave," Braginsky said curtly, though Alfred vaguely wondered if the man was a telepath because it seemed as though his lips hadn't even moved.

"Can't you please just hear what we've gotta say, I mean-"

"I said leave," The man bared his teeth this time, eyes still unmoving.

"Oh fuck this, this is fucking ridiculous," Lovino groaned, stepping forward, "We came 3 miles to see your ugly fucking mug. Stop being such a bastard and at least let us ask you before you jump our shit."

Braginsky scowled and finally lifted his eyes to gaze upon the duo, "And why should I do that?"

"Because we're not fucking leaving until you do, and let me tell you, you don't want to be stuck with this jackass," He gestured to Alfred who squawked indignantly, "For the rest of eternity. Trust me."

Braginsky looked from the blond to the brunette and back again before resentfully sighing, "Why have you come to disturb me."

Hesitantly, Alfred said, "Well Mr. Braginsky, sir, we're kind of new to this whole being dead thing and Lovi and I were just wondering if you could-uh give us some pointers."

"As in…" Braginsky prompted impatiently.

"Well I mean, is there any way to contact the living?"

Braginsky's hands clenched and unclenched around his scriptures, "That is a dangerous thing you are suggesting."

"It is?" Alfred looked to Lovino who had the same look of confusion on his face.

"Contact with the living is strictly forbidden," Braginsky said.

"It's really important that we do- people are going to die if we don't-"

"People will die if you do," Braginsky muttered, "The Reapers will come for them and then for your soul as well."

"Reapers?" Lovino said over Alfred's shoulder.

"The ones who maintain order between the land of the living and the land of the dead," Braginsky looked at Alfred, seemingly unable to blink, "If you make contact with the living know that you will be cast into Outer Darkness."

Lovino snorted, "And how would you know, huh? I've never seen these 'Reapers'."

Bragisnky broke his stare and turned away from them, "You'd think being someone who is invisible to the world you'd be more willing to accept the existence of something you haven't seen."

"You still haven't answered my question, how do you know?" Lovino said as he yanked Ivan back to face them.

Bitterly, Braginsky spat, "Because I did it."

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a/n: Ha, I managed to upload this the first time and forgot to edit it. I hope no one read it, I only had it up for all of 5 minutes. OTL

It's a short chapter but I felt like this was the best place to stop for now.

Thanks so much for the support... That anon review made me smile. To be honest I'm surprised anyone likes this. Also, I'm curious to know if the people reading this want smut or not. Sorry to be blunt but I was just wondering… If the majority doesn't I'm okay with leaving it out but if the majority does want it/doesn't care then I will include it (In later chapters)

Next chapter involves a lot more Ivan…


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